I’m sure there must be some point to rude politicians, thick news anchors, politicians who can’t stop talking drivel, biased news anchors, politicians who break promises the way Mr Creosote breaks furniture, toady news anchors, and North African politicians with the ethics of a rabid stoat. It’s just that, at the minute, I can’t quite work out what it is. Dementia is a terrible thing.
“To show pictures stored in Google photos,’ suggested my Microsoft Windows8 OS this morning, “you need to be connected to the internet”. Apart from the fact that I do not have any pictures stored at Google, was not trying to access Google photos and was fully connected to the internet, this was really useful advice.
There’s been lots of really useful ideas in the news today. The Algerian government has come up with a bonzer solution to the migrant problem: they’re kicking them out into the Sahara desert, with a survival kit consisting of the advice that Nigeria is somewhere vaguely to the south. No food or water was deemed necessary by the organisers of this trek. I wonder what Yvette Cooper, Gary Lineker and the umpteen migrant charities think of this, yet another example of the Islamic Way.
Obviously, I’m a racist for pointing this out, but talking of Lineker the Liberal, the female anchor at Sky News this lunchtime reminded us that “Harry Kane scored a hat-trick during the match”. It reassured me that Harry is a practical man of sound reasoning, in that he prefers to score his goals during play, rather than after the final whistle.
The same anchor then took a Geordie academic to task for opposing the Bill in Parliament today designed to criminalise racist chants at football games. “Do you think it’s OK to throw bananas onto the pitch because a player is black?” she asked him. Seven times in total. Eventually, the professor asked her when the last banana was thrown onto a football field, then filled her hesitation by answering, “Absolutely decades ago”. Given that every team in the World Cup has at least three black players, if nasty racists were everywhere it would get very expensive for banana-throwing Nazis by the end of the tournament.
I’ve often thought of throwing a coconut at Baron Adonis myself, but this has nothing whatever to do with the fact that he hails from Cyprus. The main idea would be to stun him into silence for, at the very least, an hour or two. Nor is that intolerance on my part: it’s just that even a saint like me needs some respite from a stream of nonsense:
Surely none of you can see Baron Admonish coming here. After all, you’re so uneducated and thick, whereas he is so subtle. He wants everyone to have the opportunity to turn down the deal, or stay in the European Bunion and that’s it. No second chances, no “you lied”, “we weren’t ready”, “let’s try for a better deal”, “tell us what would be a good deal”: just we’re leaving or we’re back in. Sod the Withdrawal Bill.
Andrew really is the sort of patronising mollusc likely to give the sons of Cypriot waiters a bad name. But as of last night, he’s now an expert on Third Runways. I thought this might enable me to eschew the coconut-chucking option: but no, now he seems to be having a go at the SNP about Heathrow:
Ah, right – I see: he thinks Scotland should take up the slack, because Scots want to get to London more quickly. Although the, um, Heathrow Third Runway is about international arrivals in the UK, not Jocks coming south to protest about Brexit. But no, I have it wrong here: Baron Adonghead is for the Third Runway. Even though we won’t need one after Brexit, because of course we won’t have any trade left, and we’re all going to die from the Tixerb5C virus becuse we can’t get any medicines and Brussels U-Boats will sink all the incoming ships and serve us jolly well right.
A Tory and Corbynista MP “debated” the Third Runway with another news anchor later in the morning. Nothing practical emerged from it, but one really useful fact was clear to everyone by the end of the slanging match: the Labour MP for Ealing South Rupa Huq simply cannot bear to remain quiet while others are speaking. She left nobody in any doubt at all that first, everyone who votes for the new Runway deserves to be hung by piano wire; and second, her larynx is a marathon runner sans pareil.
Adonis, by contrast, moves in delirious ways, his blunders to perform. Not so Boris Johnson: he’s a straightforward sort of chap – outspoken, British, just like you and me. If the Third Runway goes ahead, he intends to jump under the first bulldozer onsite, like some latter-day Suffragette diving under the King’s Horse.
Yet oddly, Boris is not going to vote against the runway, because he’s not here. He is, says the Foreign Office, somewhere else but they aren’t sure where. They do know, however, that he departed via Heathrow.
From this Somewhere Else, Boris issued a release this morning to say that “my death under a bulldozer would achieve nothing”.
Don’t be modest, BoJo. There are those of us here and there who think such a result would be a major step forward.
I can’t avoid pointing out, in conclusion, that the news stations on telly this morning were replete with ads begging for donations because kids around the world have no shelter, not enough food, and drinking water so awful it will accelerate their decline towards death from dehydration. Having watched the braindead “analysis” of these media (and the antics thereupon of those who claim to be running things) I am sad about the fate of those kids, but not remotely surprised.